Healing
by Susan82
Summary: Sam and Dean run into trouble while taking a much needed break after the events in Nightmare. Last chapter is up.
1. Chapter 1

This takes place about a week after the episode "Nightmares", so there are obvious spoilers up until that point. And now for the words we all know and loathe...I do not own Sam and/or Dean Winchester, their car, their dad, or the thoughts in their heads...although I do my best to borrow them and have them back at curfew."

**Healing**

Sam Winchester winced as the car's right front wheel found another pothole. Glancing over at his sleeping brother, he breathed a sigh of relief when Dean didn't stir. Sam could pretty much recite Dean's "the car is special" speech word for word; he wasn't ready to hear it again.

Sam took a hand off the wheel and wearily ran it over his face, as if to wipe the fatigue away. That last job had really taken its toll on him. Having to deal with horrible nightmares and debilitating visions were bad enough, but seeing Max take his own life like that…Sam pushed the memory away. His head knew Max's death wasn't his fault, but his conscience was telling him another story. Trying not to dwell on the events of the past week, Sam turned the music up a bit. He would never admit it to his older brother, but he was starting to enjoy the mullet-rock bands that Dean insisted they listen to.

A mumble from his right drew his attention from the road as Dean stirred in the passenger seat. Sam secretly willed Dean to wake up, but after a bit a maneuvering Dean hunkered lower in the seat and was still. Dean needed the rest after driving all day and night in an effort to get his little brother as far away from Michigan as possible. Sam grinned as he remembered watching Dean's inner struggle between possibly falling asleep behind the wheel, or handing his beloved over to Sam, who had gotten in a few fitful hours of rest before they crossed the Ohio state line. Dean's own tiredness won out, and now, 6 hours later, Sam needed a break. He was even willing to try and sleep a little, if it meant getting rid of the nagging headache that had begun 15 billboards back. Sam's grin faded as he slowly rubbed his hand across his forehead. What if it wasn't a regular headache, but the beginnings of a vision? He was a ticking time bomb with his new ability; a blinding vision at the wrong time could mean death to him and Dean during a job, and certain disaster while driving.

Pulling the car over to the side of the road, Sam pulled out the map. A small town was only about half an hour away. Perfect. Sam took a big gulp from the water bottle he got from the backseat. After halfway screwing the top back on, he glanced again at his brother. Remembering all the times in their youth when Sam had been so rudely awakened in one way or another by Dean, Sam unscrewed the top and splashed a considerable amount of water at Dean's face.

Sputtering and bolting upright in his seat, Dean opened his eyes and looked around wildly. "What the…" A fit of laughter caught his attention and he turned to glare at his brother. "Bastard."

Sam tried to get his amusement under control. "Sorry man, muscle spasm. Besides, we're about to enter the beautiful town of Sunny Springs, Pennsylvania."

"And what is so damn special about Sunny Springs, Sam?" Dean growled.

"Well, I'm assuming they have a motel with a nice warm bed. I'm tired, man, I need a break." Sam answered.

Dean wiped off his face with the bottom of his shirt. "Hey, you being tired isn't my fault!"

Sam's grin faded as he remembered Dean's words as they left the motel in Saginaw, "This is not your fault." Dean sighed as he watched Sam stare down at his hands. "Fine, Sam, Sunny Springs it is. But first we gotta find food…I had my beauty sleep, now I need some serious grub!"

Sam looked over at his brother a second before rolling his eyes. With the hint of a smile on his face, Sam put the car into gear and headed down the road.

Sam stared at the person sitting in the booth across from him. "Who the hell are you?"

Dean looked up mid-chew. "What?"

Sam shook his head. "You eat like a four year old at a fair. Sometimes I don't know how we're related."

Dean swallowed his mouthful of hamburger before grinning at his brother. "Gotta eat it before the juices run." Dean took a big sloppy mouthful of his burger to emphasize that point.

Sam smiled despite himself and grabbed a french fry. "So, do you want to hit the internet, or do you want the papers?"

Dean looked confused. "What are you talking about?"

"To look for our next gig. You know, the stuff we've been doing for the last 6 months?" Sam said slowly.

Dean shook his head. "Uh huh. We're on vacation, Sammy boy."

"What? We don't get vacations, Dean. We've gotta find…"

"Gotta find Dad, yeah, Sam, I know." Dean interrupted. "Listen, we went through a lot in Michigan. We need time to regroup. A little rest and hopefully a little fun is what we need right now, not killing some big bad."

"Dean," Sam began. Dean held up a hand, silencing him.

"No. We're going to have at least two or three demon-free days. You're the one always begging for a normal life. Well, here it is. We're going to kick back, relax, and," Dean looked up at the blonde leggy waitress who was walking towards a large man seated across the diner, "take in some of the local sights."

Sam looked at his older brother. Dean met his gaze with a steely stare. After a few tense moments Sam looked away. "Fine. You win. Dean. Dean?" Sam looked over his shoulder to see what was going on.

Dean clenched his jaw as he watched the man make another half-assed swipe at the waitress. She raised a slightly shaky hand to brush a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes as she tried in vain to take the guy's order. Without averting his gaze Dean slid out of the booth. "Excuse me, Sammy, I need to stretch my legs."

Dean felt his heart start to accelerate in anticipation. It'd been way to long since he had something to hit. He couldn't find his dad, couldn't save his brother from the nightmares and painful visions that now plagued his life, but he could damn well save this girl.


	2. Chapter 2

Emma closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She'd handledguys like him before; she certainly wasn't going to let this one get the better of her. Opening her eyes she fixed her gaze on him and asked in a low steady voice, "Sir, for the last time, what do you want?"

The trucker sat back in the booth and laid his hands on his oversized stomach. "Well, gee, sweetie, everything looks so darn tasty, I'm just not sure exactly what to choose."

Dean snorted a laugh as he came up behind the waitress. "Dude, the only choice you should be thinking about is Jenny Craig or Weight Watchers."

Emma whipped her head around and stared at Dean as he moved between her and the trucker. He picked up the menu and made a big show of reading it. "Due to your delicate condition, I'd suggest something bland. You havin' twins?"

The trucker growled and started to move out of the booth when Dean reached down and grabbed the man's arm. The next thing the trucker knew he was yanked to his feet as his arm was twisted painfully behind his back. His struggles to free himself stilled as he listened to the words being whispered in his ear. "Now you take your sorry fat ass out of here and hit the road before I do something you'll regret."

Releasing his hold, Dean gave the man a slight shove forward and crossed his arms. The trucker met his gaze, and then glanced behind to where Sam stood ready to jump into action. Without another word he grabbed his hat off of the table, pushed past Dean and headed out the door.

Dean relaxed his stance and winked at the waitress. "So, darlin', how about that piece of pie?"

"The name's Emma, and I was handling that thug just fine on my own, thank you." She replied.

Dean flashed her his hundred-watt smile. "I have no doubt about that. I've just got this thing with big ugly thugs who think they can bully pretty girls. It's a curse, really."

Emma stared at him before breaking into a smile. "Go sit down; I'll bring you and your friend some pie."

Sam watched Dean head back towards their booth muttering under his breath. "..why he gets pie. …sits on his ass while I do all the work."

"Feel better now, Dean?"

"Hey, I snagged us some free pie, so shut your pie hole, Sammy." Dean smirked at his cleverness as Sam rolled his eyes. Any retort he may have had was forgotten as two pieces of apple pie were set before the brothers.

"So, we're looking for a nice relaxing place to spend a few nights. I don't suppose you have any suggestions on where we can rest our weary heads?" The pie was forgotten as Dean continued to flirt. He could practically see the waitress melt under his charms.

"Well, there is a Holiday Inn down the road, but…" she stopped for a moment, biting her lower lip, "my family just finished building a small log cabin in the woods. It's not the Ritz Carlton, but it's fully furnished, and less than a mile from the lake. The heat's not hooked up yet, but there's a fireplace you could use…long as you don't mindsplitting some logs. I'm sure my parents wouldn't mind if you stayed there a couple nights, providing you clean up after yourselves."

"Emma, that sounds fantastic. Sam and I love roughing it." Dean flashed his brother a dirty look as Sam almost choked on his pie. "As long as you're sure it's no trouble."

Emma smiled. "No, no trouble. Although you'll probably have to come into town for food."

Sam rolled his eyes as Dean's grin widened. "For another chance at this pie, I'd go anywhere."

Sam cleared his throat. "Dean, it's getting late. If we're going to do this, we should head up there before it gets dark."

"The meal's on the house, boys. I'll be right back with the keys and directions." Emma blushed at Dean's parting wink before she walked away.

"I swear, man, you are unbelievable." Sam couldn't help but chuckle at his older brother.

"Hey, we all have our talents. You just stick to research, Geek Boy, and let me do the rest."

Sam just shook his head as he finished his pie. It was going to be a long few days.


	3. Chapter 3

The sun was just getting ready to hide behind the horizon as the black Impala slowed to a stop. Dean turned the car off and sat back in his seat with a frown. "Well, this is quaint." He took in Sam's smile and grunted. "Man, the crap I do for you."

"It's all part of the big brother package, Dean, get used to it." Sam got out of the car and breathed in deep, the fresh air filling his lungs and momentarily soothing his aching head. He took a moment to take in the scene before him. The dirt road they had just been on led to a small cabin situated among the trees. Off to the right of the porch stood a large tree with a tire swing hanging from a low branch. Sam rubbed his arms as a sudden chill came over him. A loud thump pulled his attention back to the trunk of the car where Dean had grabbed their bags.

"No, really, Sam, I got it, thanks."

Sam jogged over to Dean and took his bag. Glancing back at the swing, he followed his brother into the cabin.

"Not bad." Dean said as he flicked on the light switch. They had walked into a large living room where a big stone fireplace was surrounded by a large blue couch and loveseat. Off to the right the light shone off ofa metal refrigerator in themodern kitchen, and on the left was a small hallway which he assumed led to the bedrooms and bathrooms. Dean pushed past his brother and headed towards the bedrooms. Quickly assessing the situation, Dean dropped his bag on the bed of the larger room. He pretended not to notice Sam's exasperated sigh as he followed Sam into the smaller room. He frowned as he watched his little brother dig out an aspirin bottle and water from his duffle bag.

"Sam?"

Sam swallowed the pills before answering. "Just a headache, I'm fine." Not hearing a reply from his normally talkative brother, Sam turned around. "Seriously, Dean. I'm good. Just tired."

Dean took in the bags under the younger boy's eyes and nodded. "Yeah, well, the whole purpose of this little trip is to refuel the engine, so why don't you catch a few Zz's, and I'll call Emma, see if she has a perky little friend for you."

Sam smiled. He knew his brother was concerned for him, but had to keep up the macho exterior. Sam often wondered if Dean actually thought he was fooling anyone with his tough guy act. "Naw, you go ahead. Have fun, I'll just crash here. Maybe do some checking for our next gig."

"You know, the whole point of this is to get your mind off of work for a bit. Lord knows you need a break, Sam."

"And I'll take it, Dean, I promise. I'll just do a little web surfing, maybe chop some wood, then hit the sack. I'll be fine, now go!"

Dean knew when he was beat. When Sam put his mind to something, there was no talking him out of it. He supposed he should take solace in the small victory of even getting Sam to take a break at all. Ever since Jessica's death, Sam had developed a bad case of tunnel vision: all he could concentrate on was finding their dad and avenging their loved one's deaths. While Dean still hurt from his mother's death, he'd had 22 years to begin the healing process, whereas the wounds in Sam's heart were only 6 months old. But Dean would be damned if he'd let him suffer more than he already has. Sam was going to relax and recuperate if it killed him!

Dean put on a devilish smile. "Fine. You go play with your wood, Sammy, and I'll go…"

"Dean!" Sam tried to act annoyed, but couldn't help but laugh. Dean grinned back at him and walked out of the room. A few seconds later Sam heard the front door slam, followed by peaceful silence.

Sam walked back into the living room and sat on the couch. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back and sighed contentedly. He would gladly lay his life down for his brother, but having a few hours away from his ever watching eye was just what the witch doctor ordered.

Still feeling the slight chill he had experienced outside, Sam got up and surveyed the fireplace. A glass case hung above the mantel with an old revolver inside. Sam reached out to touch it when a large BANG made him whirl around. Sam flung open the door and ran down the steps, certain the noise he'd heard was his brother's precious Impala slamming into a tree. He ran several dozen yards down the road before coming to a stop. Confused, he grabbed his cell phone. Tapping his foot impatiently, he shouted with relief when Dean answered. "Dean! Are you ok?"

"Besides being deaf in one ear, I'm fine. What the hell's wrong with you?"

Sam winced. "Sorry. I heard a crash, I thought it was you."

"Uh huh. Well, it wasn't. You know, I'm just down the road, I can swing back up and get you if you've changed your mind."

"No, man, I'm good. Sorry."

"Your loss is my gain, Spazziod." Sam shook his head and grinned as he hung up the phone. Spazzoid. His grin faded as he remembered the noise he'd heard. What the hell was that? The closest building was the general store they had passed 3 miles away. Tossing it up to raw nerves with a side of no sleep, Sam walked back to the cabin. Climbing the steps, he stopped on the top stair. In his haste he'd left the door open, now it was shut. Must have been a gust of wind, Sam thought to himself as he walked inside, firmly pulling the door shut.

Still feeling a bit uneasy, Sam went into his bedroom to unpack. He'd just put the last of his shirts in the dresser when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He turned around, fully expecting someone to be there, but there was no one. He couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Man, he'd been away from hunting too long; his nerves were shot. As he walked back into the living room the uneasy feeling slowly faded. Shaking it off, he went back over to the fireplace. He couldn't take his eyes off of that gun, it was beautiful. Right after he took the case from the wall, a strong wind came through the room, whipping his hair around. Lowering his head, he looked around and saw the front door standing wide open. Pushing it shut, he leaned against it and caught his breath. Something weird was going on, he knew he had shut that door! Sam opened and shut the door a few times to test the latch. There's no way that door would open on its own.

He placed the gun back and looked at his watch: 9:30pm. He didn't want to bother Dean again; he needed a break almost as much as Sam did. Deciding he was just letting his imagination run a bit wild, Sam contemplated his next move. He really should chop a little firewood. Nah, Dean told him to relax, and for once he was going to follow his brother's orders without question. Sam headed back towards the bedroom to grab the paperback he'd been working his way through. As he turned into the hallway, he stopped short with a gasp. A white mist was hovering near the entrance to his bedroom. Advancing slowly, he watched as the mist went into the room and dissipated. Sam walked into the doorway and surveyed the area; nothing looked out of the ordinary. His book forgotten, Sam moved back into the living room to get his phone. "Dammit!" he exclaimed uneasily. The battery on his cell phone was drained, yet it'd fully charged when he'd called Dean a few moments ago. Well, that clinched it. Spirits often need energy to manifest themselves, and they usually acquired it by drawing from the heat in the air, or from electronic devices. Sam backed up against the wall as the lights began to flicker.

"Oh crap" he said, the words forming in a cloud of condensation as the temperature dropped drastically.

A wave of fatigue settled over him and he pushed himself towards the door. Dizzy, he fell onto the couch as his knees gave out. Sam lay paralyzed watching the mist reappear in front of the fireplace as his eyelids closed and he fell into unconsciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

It was 11am the next morning when Dean rolled the car to a stop in front of the little cabin. A goofy grin was still plastered on his face as he sauntered up the stairs. That was just what he needed; and probably what Sam needed, too. Dean was going to drag his brother out tonight by his shaggy head if he had to. That Emma chic was smokin', and her little friend Donna would look really cute tucked under Sam's arm.

Dean opened the door and was all set to shout out when he saw a lanky figure sprawled on the couch. A sense of relief settled over him as he stood watching his kid brother sleep soundly. Finally the boy was getting some much needed rest, and nightmare-free, judging from the calm expression on his face. Pulling off his jacket, he placed it across Sam's shoulders, and set the box of doughnuts he'd brought on theend table. Seeing the empty fireplace, Dean went outside to chop some firewood.

Walking towards the woodpile against the side of the cabin, Dean took a look around at the surroundings. While he wasn't a huge fan of nature, he had to admit the area was beautiful. When Sam woke up they'd have to go check out the lake. The tire swing caught his eye as he neared the corner of the cabin. He swung the tire back and forth with his hand as he flashed back to one of the times in his and Sammy's youth.

Their father was inside the library doing research on some big nasty, while the two youngest Winchesters played in the park across the street. He had helped his 9-year old brother onto the tire swing, and began to push with all his might. An evil laugh escaped his lips as Sammy began to go higher and higher. Sam's pleas to slow down went unanswered as Dean gave the tire one last twist, and Dean watched as the tire and its rider swung crazily in the air. Sam's terrified wails cut trough Dean's heart, and he guiltily grabbed the swing and slowed it to a stop. Sam wiped the tears from his eyes as he glared at Dean. Dean cleared his throat and apologized, laughing when his innocent little brother told him to go do something that was anatomically impossible. Dean realized he was going to have to watch his mouth from now on; Sam idolized his cool teenaged brother.

A loud noise brought Dean out of the past as he dropped his hand, startled. It sounded like a gunshot. He'd left their guns in the trunk, unless Sam… "Sam?" he yelled towards the cabin. Not hearing an answer, he dropped the axe and raced up the steps.

Bursting into the room, he stopped short when he saw everything was just as he left it a few minutes ago. Sam lay asleep on the sofa, undisturbed. Must have been hunters, he thought to himself. Still, he could've sworn the noise came from the house. Just then Sam stirred and opened his eyes. Dean looked down at him and smiled. "Well, good morning, sunshine!"

Sam just stared at him for a moment before slowly sitting up. He looked around the room before his gaze finally settled on Dean. Sam furrowed his brow in confusion. His headache was gone, but he was still exhausted. "Dude, you feel ok?" Sam looked up at his questioning brother; he must look as bad as he felt.

"Uh, yeah. What's going on?" Sam ran his hand through his hair, trying to set it back in place.

"You tell me. You still have a headache?"

"No."

"Bad dream?"

"Maybe. I'm not sure."

Dean raised his eyebrows, waiting for Sam to elaborate. But he just sat there, a perplexed look on his pale face. "What'd you do last night?"

"Um," Sam considered the question. "I, uh, read a little, I think." His head clearing a bit, he saw the concerned look he was being given, and straightened his posture. "I was tired, and fell asleep on the couch. It's not the first time that's happened. What's for breakfast?"

Dean recognized Sam's feeble attempt to change the subject, and decided to let it rest for now. "Well, considering it's almost lunch time, we could have doughnuts, or go into town for a little grub."

Sam grabbed the bag and dug in greedily. "Mmmm, doughnuts."

Dean took the bag back. "Did you hear a loud bang a few minutes ago?"

Sam cocked his head to the side, "No. Did it sound like a sharp crash?"

"Yeah, like a gunshot." Dean answered.

Sam shrugged and took a big bite of a doughnut. "Sounds like what I heard last night. It's the wrong season for hunters. Could just be the locals getting some target practice."

"Just what we need. Well, you take the shower first. I'll chop some wood."

Sam's face took on a mischievous look. "So, how was last night?"

Dean stopped in the doorway, a faraway look on his face. "Good times, good times." He blinked back into the present, "I'll be outside." and shut the door behind him.

Walking back over to the woodpile, he hefted the axe a few times. He let his mind drift as he began splitting the logs. What the hell were he and Sammy going to do all day? Well, there was that local theater…he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen a good movie. Dean stopped mid swing as he heard a branch crack behind him. "Sam? Sam, that you?"

"Damn rabbits." Dean mumbled as he went back to the woodpile. Just as he sent the axe into the log he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. Dropping the axe he spun around to find…nothing. Dean laughed nervously. All those years of constantly looking over his shoulder were making him twitchy. A strong wind came out of nowhere, hitting him square in the face. His hand held up to shield himself, he turned towards the tire swing and gaped. While the wind whipped the branches on all of the other trees violently, the tire swing and its supporting tree stood still, as if in the eye of a hurricane. Then, just as suddenly as it began, the wind stopped, and the forest was still.

"Ok, what the hell was that?" Dean grabbed the pieces of wood he had finished, and went into the house. Hearing the shower still running, Dean dropped the wood and went outside to the car. Getting his homemade emf reader from the trunk, Dean walked back to the tree. The closer he got the louder the thing clicked. As soon as Dean touched the trunk of the tree, the device went silent. Dean swore under his breath. Unbelievable! He and Sam had to find the one spot in this godforsaken hick town that had something supernatural going on.

"No." he said outloud. "The batteries are just low. That's all." Not totally convinced, he took out his cell phone and headed back to the cabin.

Sam strolled into the living room feeling refreshed. Shaking his head at the pile of wood dropped carelessly in the middle of the floor, he began to put a few pieces into the fireplace. He'd just thrown the match into the fireplace when Dean came in talking on his phone.

"So nothing weird at all? No, no reason, we just heard a few strange noises, probably just the house settling in. Yeah…No, I had a great time too. That thing you did with…" he broke off as he saw Sam sitting on his heels by the fireplace, listening intently. "Yeah, so I gotta go. I'll call you later." Hanging up, he glared across the room. "A guy gets no privacy."

Sam chuckled, then his face turned serious. "Something up?"

"No, everything's cool." The look on Sam's face said he wasn't buying it. He told Sam about the wind and the emf readings.

Sam sat down heavily as the memory of the previous night's occurrences hit him like a sledge hammer. He heard Dean speak his name, and felt Dean's hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to his senses. "I saw a mist last night in my room…it reappeared by the fireplace…drained my cell phone. I remember, it got so cold."

Dean closed his eyes, swallowing the angry curse that was about to escape. Opening them, he squeezed Sam's shoulder hard. "Well, I guess we know what we have to do next…research. Figure out what the hell we're dealing with."

"And by 'we', you mean, 'me', right?" Sam said dryly.

"Hey, if you're offering, who am I to say no? I'm gonna look around outside a bit more. Yell if anything comes up." Propping open the door with the end table, Dean went outside.

"Hey, what's Emma's last name?" Sam yelled after his brother.

"Samson." was the shouted reply.

Grabbing a doughnut and their laptop, Sam settled himself into research mode.

20 minutes later Dean was still outside, and Sam had found nothing to explain the weird happenings in the Samson cabin. And why should he? Emma said the cabin was built only a few months ago. So either they were making a haunted mountain out of a molehill, or there was something supernatural occurring.

Sam stood up and carefully surveyed everything in the cabin. Maybe there was a cursed object they were overlooking. He was heading towards the fireplace when he heard the loud noise again. Assessing that it came from outside, Sam raced outside. "Dean? Was that you? Dean!" Sam saw a figure go around the corner of the cabin. Jogging after him, Sam rounded the corner to find he was still alone. Sam withdrew his cell phone, then shoved it back in his pocket in frustration; he'd forgotten the damn thing was dead.

Slowly he began to walk around the perimeter of the cabin, looking for Dean, or for any loose hatches or windows that might explain the banging noise. The wind started to pick up as he walked towards the side of the cabin. Remembering what Dean had said, he approached the tree swing. His eyes followed the rope up to the low hanging branch it was tied to. Where the rest of the tree was covered in green leaves, this branch was completely void of life. Less than a foot from where the rope was wrapped the branch bore a ring of blackened wood. Sam reached up to try and touch it when the wind gusted hard against him, knocking him off balance and he fell hard against the tree. The minute he hit the tree all his breath left him as if he'd been punched in the stomach. Sam fell to the ground gasping for air as the wind continued to thrash around him.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean ran to his fallen brother, fighting against the gale force wind to get to him. He dropped flat to the dirt as a large log flew past him. Dean had seen Sam walking towards the tree and called out to him, but his voice had been swallowed up by the increasing wind. He'd watched in shock as Sam was thrown against the trunk and lay prone below the swing.

Dean finally made his way to Sam, whose eyes were open as he silently begged for help. The wind cut out completely as Dean's hand touched his brother's arm. Sam sat up slowly, rubbing his bruised shoulder. He started to lean against the tree when Dean grabbed him. "Uh, I think you might want to rethink that."

Sam looked over his shoulder, and quickly scrambled to his feet and backed away. Keeping a wary eye on the tree, he brushed himself off. "What the hell is going on, Dean?"

Dean pulled out the emf detector and popped in the fresh batteries he'd gotten out of the car moments earlier. He began to methodically examine the tree as he spoke. "I don't know. What do you think, ghost? Some kind of nature spirit?"

"Well, whatever it is, it seems connected to this tree." Sam said as he listened to the meter go wild the closer it got to the lowest branch. "Check out that black circle on the branch. It looks like it was burned."

"Yeah, but what would cause just that one area to burn that badly, but leave the rest of the tree alone? And what about the stuff you saw last night inside?" Dean looked back at Sam but received no answer. Turning off the device, he looked at his watch. "Let's head back into town and grab a bite to eat, check out the library I guess."

Sam quirked his mouth into a crooked smile. "What time does she start?"

Dean thought about playing dumb, then shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, we need to find out what's going on out here. It's her family's place, so obviously we need to talk to her. All part of a day's work, Sammy." Dean walked to the car chuckling.

Biting his tongue at the accursed nickname, Sam knew his brother was right. Sam turned to the tree again and touched the bark tentatively. Nothing happened. Looking up at the branch, he stretched to lay a finger on it. It was just a few feet to high. "Sammy, let's go already!"

"It's SAM!" he shouted up to the car, but his voice was drowned out as Dean turned the radio up. With one last glance back, he got in the car and they sped down the road.

The diner was nearly full as the two Winchesters sat at the counter bar. "What'll it be? Oh, hey there." Emma smiled coyly at Dean. "How's the vacation?"

Dean glanced sideways at Sam, then locked his gaze on the waitress. "Great! It's so peaceful up there. I didn't realize just how many beautiful creatures there are in Sunny Springs."

Sam rolled his eyes and sat forward a bit. "It really is a gorgeous area. How long has your family owned the land?

Tearing her eyes away from Dean, she smiled easily at Sam. "Only for the past few years. We bought it from friends of ours, the Hopkins."

"Oh, did they move out of the area?" Sam asked.

Emma shook her head. "No, I guess they just didn't want it anymore." She held up her hand to the family sitting in one of the booths towards the back. "I'll be right back."

"Well, at least we have another name to check into." Sam smacked Dean in the arm to get his attention.

"Huh? Yeah, right."

"You boys new in town?" Sam and Dean looked to see an old grey haired man gazing suspiciously at them.

"No, sir," Sam answered. "We're just visiting, staying at the Samson's cabin, out by the lake."

The old man sized them up, then sat on the stool beside Dean. "The old Hopkin's place?"

The brothers exchanged a look. Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess. But I thought the Samson's just built on the land."

"They sure did; they put that new shack right on the spot where the Hopkins' place burnt down. Darn shame, too. That thing stood for over one hundred years." The old man took a sip of his coffee, getting into his storytelling mode.

"What happened?" Sam inquired earnestly. Dean leaned back a little. He could see the old guy was starting to warm to Sam. That was what made the two of them such a good team. Sam was the straightforward one; his sincerity could put anyone at ease. Dean on the other hand tended to deal more with duplicity. He didn't necessarily enjoy it, but in their line of work it was unavoidable. He knew Sam's approach would accomplish more, so he sat back and listened intently.

Sam had asked the elderly man about the fire. "No one really knows what caused it. Ol' Joe Hopkins lived there alone, just him and his blood hound. One day back in '84 the police got a call from Joe on his CB radio, he was rantin' and ravin' about a fire. By the time the fire department got there, the cabin was burnt to a crisp. The only thing left was that fireplace. Turns out Joe'd set fire to the place himself, claimed the spirits told him to do it. Joe was as crazy as they came."

"Maybe not that crazy." Dean muttered under his breath. "You don't think he really saw spirits, do you?" he asked intently.

The old man shrugged. "Who knows. His kin had him locked up in a nearby mental hospital right after it happened. He held onto that story til his dyin' day a few years back. Lucky bastard died in his sleep. We should all be that lucky."

"What about you?" Sam asked.

The man finished his coffee in one big gulp before replying, "What, believe in spirits? Now, I ain't usually one to believe in that nonsense, but you won't get me going up there alone at night. Ever since Dylan Hopkins hung himself back in 1863, there's just something about that land that don't sit right."

All three of them jumped as Emma spoke right behind them. "Now, Henry, don't start filling these boys' heads with that nonsense. There are no such things as ghosts or spirits." She turned to the brothers. "Don't let him scare you. Henry's kind of our local gossip; he loves to tell old wive's tales. Do you know what you'd like?"

Dean hastily ordered for them, then looked back at Henry. "Tell us about it."

Henry turned sideways on the stool, leaning forward with an intense look on his wizened face. "It was back in 1863…Dylan Hopkins was gettin' ready to head out and join the army. His younger brother Jack also tried to enlist, but was turned down on account of he was only 15 years old. That Jack idolized his older brother, tried to be just like him. A week before Dylan was to go, Jack was cleanin' his gun for him as a surprise. Well, the gun went off on accident and he shot himself in the stomach. They say Dylan was completely wracked with guilt. Three days later Dylan hung himselffrom the large tree the boys used to climb on when they were kids. Dylan's ghost is supposed to haunt the area, trying to ease his guilt."

Dean and Sam exchanged a look. They had the answers they were seeking. Dean opened his mouth to ask a question when a plate was dropped in front of him. Gaping, he looked up to see a fuming Emma placing the other plates of food down.

"I don't understand why you insist on telling these tall tales, Henry. Anyone who possesses even an ounce of sense knows there's no such things as ghosts. Dean, you don't really believe in this crap, do you?"

Dean paused a moment before giving an uncomfortable laugh. "No, of course not. Don't be ridiculous."

Dean watched her storm off and sighed. Ghost hunting could be killeron the love life. Turning back to Henry he tried to get back on topic. "So, what did the family do with Dylan's body? Did he get a military burial?"

Henry put his half eaten hamburger down before replying, "No. They say his mother was distraught over losing both of her sons, and was ashamed byDylan's cowardice in killing himself. They buried him under the same tree he hung himself from; didn't want him to be buried with honors, or near her beloved Jack's body. It's a tragic tale, really."

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the three men. Henry broke it by locking a steely gaze on the two younger men. "Listen, I don't know what you boys have seen up there, and quite frankly, I don't wanna know. You just be careful." Getting up, he threw a few dollars on the counter, nodded and walked away.

Minds reeling, Sam and Dean sat and tried to collect their thoughts. Dean gave a dry snort and said, "Man, I wish all our research went that smoothly."

Sam blinked and shook his head. "Well, it sounds like we just have to salt and burn Dylan's bones."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So we go?"

"I guess."

Neither one moved as they still couldn't believe how fast everything was moving. Less than an hour after they began their unexpected investigation they had the solution in their hands. Each secretly wished the search for their father would move as quickly.

Dean grabbed his uneaten burger and whacked Sam on the arm. "Come on, let's get this over with. We can salt and burn, and still have time to hit the local cow-tipping scene at night." He looked over at Emma, who was pointedly ignoring him. Oh well, her loss.

Dean put the keys in the ignition, and then pulled them back out. Keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead, Dean cleared his throat. "Listen, this sounds like a pretty cut and dry fix here. Why don't you hang out here, maybe look for our next job? I'll head up to the cabin and take care of the bones."

Dean waited for a heated reaction. Receiving none, he risked a peek over at Sam. Sam looked back at him warily. "What are you getting at, Dean?"

Dean chose his words carefully. "Look, Sam, I'm just saying, maybe this isn't the kind of job you should be involved in. We already know ghosts go after the whole psychic thing...this one attacked you once already. Besides, the whole point of this so-called vacation was to give you a break from hunting."

"Are you afraid that what happened at the asylum will happen again? Cause I've already tried to tell you," Sam broke off as Dean held up a hand.

"Whoa, easy, I'm not saying anything like that. I'm just trying to make sure nothing happens to you." The truth was he was terrified. With their dad God knows where, Sam was all he had left. Watching Sam suffer through the endless nightmares and guilt over his girlfriend's death was bad enough, but now with the addition of visions and apparent telekinesis, Dean didn't know how much more Sam could take.

Normally Sam would have taken offense, but Dean's apprehension only added to his own fears. His new psychic abilities were unreliable at best; he couldn't call on them when he needed them, and he could be struck with an incapacitating premonition at any second. Every time he thought about his Look-Ma-no-hands! routine at Max's, his stomach felt like lead. What good was having these abilities if he had no control over them? Never mind the fact that it seemed to attract ghosts like Dean to woman. What if he got overcome again, like he had been at Roosevelt Asylum? What if he attacked Dean again? There were too many "what ifs". The reality is that Sam secretly would like nothing better than to hole up in a dark room where he couldn't hurt anyone until Dean brought their dad home.

Sam closed his eyes. He could give in to his fears and let Dean take care of this. But what happens next time? What will happen when they're face to face with the thing that killed Jess? He couldn't just run and hide…he knew he had to be strong. Sam opened his eyes and looked over at Dean, who was taken aback by the intensity in Sam's hazel eyes. "Look, nothing's going to happen to me, not with you around. Don't you remember? We're a team, Dean, we're stronger together. You made the choice to come get me at Stanford, well, now you're stuck with me."

Gotcha! Dean tried to hide a smile. The kid had really grown up. Dean knew the doubts that lie in his brother's heart, and knew the courage it must have taken to overcome them. Seeing the fierce determination on his face lifted his own spirits. "All right then, let's do this."

The car sped back to the cabin filled with a comfortable silence. A realization hit Sam as he replayed their conversation in his head. Dean had worked on Sam's pride to rebuild his shattered confidence. Sam and Dean glanced at each other at the same time, then quickly looked away. Sam stared out the passenger window and muttered, "Thanks."

Dean kept his eyes on the road. "What?"

Sam squirmed in his seat and spoke a little louder. "I said, 'thanks.'"

Dean turned the music down a bit, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "Sorry, Sammy, still didn't catch that."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Just drive. Jerk."

Dean turned up the music, pushed down on the accelerator and grinned. He had his little brother back.


	6. Chapter 6

Three hours later Sam was doing his best to keep his temper in check. Leaning on the shovel, he wiped his arm across his brow and listened as Dean continued his grumbling.

"So help me, Sam, if we don't come across bones soon…" he broke off as he stepped onto the shovel. Grunting, he heaved a shovelful of dirt from the hole they were standing in. Watching it land in the hole next to them, he shook his head in frustration. "I swear you did this on purpose."

Sam gaped at his brother. "Are you serious? How am I supposed to know where the bones are buried? I mean, it made sense that they'd be below the branch that Dylan hung himself from. It's not like I was there, Dean, so lay off!"

"Yeah, well, we just spent three friggin' hours apparently digging in the wrong spot, so excuse me if I'm a little pissed off. Ow! Son of a…" The shovel fell to the ground as Dean grabbed his right hand.

Sam moved over to Dean, his anger replaced with concern. "What happened?"

Frowning, Dean picked up the shovel and held the wooden handle close to his face. After a moment he hurled it angrily over the edge of the hole. "I cut myself on the stupid shovel. The one side is splintered."

Sam handed him a handkerchief, then resumed digging as Dean wrapped his wounded hand. "Go take a break, I'll finish up here."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, whatever." Just as he was about to haul himself out of the hole, Sam shouted.

"Dean, I think we got something!"

Leaning in, they looked down to see the top of a human skull sticking out from the ground. Sam continued to dig as Dean scrambled out of the hole. A few minutes later the skeleton was uncovered. Dean grabbed Sam's hand and pulled him out of the hole, giving him a wry look as Sam dusted himself off. "No more apple pie for you, Tubby."

"You gonna make cracks all day, or are you gonna salt the bones?" Sam asked playfully.

"Well, look who's growing a pair!" Dean laughed as he poured salt into the hole. His smile faltered as he remembered the Hopkins' tragic tale. Losing Sam was his worst nightmare; he shuddered as he recalled seeing Sam's hands paw weakly at the cord wrapped around his throat back in their childhood home. A few more seconds and Dean would have known exactly how Dylan must have felt when Jack died. Dean looked at Sam and could tell by the expression on his face that Sam knew exactly what he was thinking. Dean cleared his throat a few times and said, "Light it up, Sam."

Sam nodded and tossed the burning piece of wood he'd been holding down into the pit. The fire grew little by little, flared brightly, and then died out. Neither of them spoke, they simply stared down into the grave. This one hit a little too close to home. Picking up the shovel, Sam silently began to move the earth back into the hole as Dean watched, lost in his own thoughts.

Sam and Dean stumbled wearily into the cabin and flopped onto the sofa. Dean glanced at Sam, a smile flashing on his face. Putting on a serious expression, Dean muttered. "Took you long enough. I could've filled that hole an hour ago."

Sam turned to his brother, playing along. "That's because you're so much closer to the ground, Shorty." He waited for the reaction he'd seen many times. Dean hated to be reminded that his little brother towered over him, a fact Sam was always willing to bring up. But Dean surprised him as he hunched forward, holding his right hand out.

"That's low, Sam, pick on the injured guy." Dean pouted. A few seconds later Dean checked to see if Sam was buying his "poor me" routine. When their eyes met they both broke into relaxed laughter. Sam stood up and went into his bedroom to get the first aid kit. Dean unwrapped his hand and looked at it critically. A mean looking gash ran up his palm. Sam came back and sat down beside him. Grabbing the injured hand with a gentleness borne from too many years of patching up his family's wounds, he began to disinfect the area. Dean bit his lip, steeling himself to begin a conversation he'd been putting off since they drove away from Michigan.

"You know, Sam, I've been thinking," he began.

"Yet another sign of the apocalypse." Sam deadpanned as he wrapped gauze around Dean's hand.

Dean glowered at Sam before continuing. "You've been having these premonitions for a reason, Sam, to help people. I can't help but think that your telekinesis is just another tool we can use."

Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat, refusing to meet his older brother's eyes. Finished wrapping Dean's hand he gently shut the first aid kit as Dean pressed on.

"Maybe you should try turning it on again." Dean said softly.

"Dean, I can't control it anymore than I can call for a vision. Besides, it only happened that one time; maybe it was just a freak thing. Or maybe being near Max had something to do with it. I don't know."

"Hey, I know you're scared…" Dean broke off as Sam suddenly stood up.

"No, Dean, I'm terrified. Max used his abilities to murder his family. Who knows what'll happen if I try?"

Dean felt himself grow aggravated. "Sam, Max was majorly messed up, ok? I feel awful about what he went through. I really do. But you cannot compare yourself to him." He decided to try another tactic. "Look, what if your telekinesis comes out during a fight? If you can't control it, you might end up injuring someone. But if we can figure this out, we can use it to our advantage and help more people."

Dean's heart broke as he saw Sam's face; the kid looked so conflicted. Sam took in a shaky breath and finally risked a glance up at his brother. He'd tried to convince himself that he hadn't been the one to actually move that cabinet back at Max's. Maybe Max had an attack of conscience and had moved it himself. Or maybe a small localized earthquake had hit just that one house at that exact moment. Yeah, sure.

He knew deep down that Dean was right. They'd be better off trying to harness this accursed gift rather than risk it going off on its own. He'd never forgive himself if an innocent person got hurt because of him or, God forbid, if something happened to Dean. He was struck once again with an overpowering longing for his father. Looking into Dean's eyes, he saw a confidence there that gave him strength. Nodding his head, he said, "Ok, I'll try."

Dean reached past Sam and picked up the first aid kit. Placing it between them, he said half-joking, "Let's keep this handy just in case."

Sam's expression turned apprehensive, and Dean rolled his eyes. "It was a joke, Sam. You'll be fine. I'm right here."

"Just concentrate on something small, and try to move it." he said.

Dean barely dared to breathe as he half expected the roof to fall in on them. After a few minutes passed and nothing happened, Dean whispered, "Anytime, Sam."

Sam exhaled sharply. "I'm trying, Dean. I told you nothing would happen."

"Well, try harder. Come on, you're barely making any effort." Dean hoped agitating him would make something happen.

Sam lowered his eyes and flashed an angry look at Dean. A second later both men jumped as a loud crash pierced the silence. Sam grabbed Dean's arm with one hand, the other pointing to the fireplace. The gun once perched over the mantel now lay on the floor amidst the broken glass from its frame.

Sam and Dean gaped at the sight. "Holy crap."


	7. Chapter 7

Sam's hand shook slightly as he brushedthe hair out of his eyes. He yelped when Dean smacked him on the arm. "Damn, boy! See, I knew you could do it! How do you feel? Any headaches or anything?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Dean, I wasn't aiming for the gun. I was focusing on the lamp."

"Well, that's exactly why you need practice, to get a handle on this thing. Although, maybe we'd better take it outside before you wreck something else." Dean went into the kitchen to find a broom.

Sam walked over to where the gun lay and crouched down. A tentative hand extended out, then pulled back, as if touching it would cause further mayhem. Wiping his sweaty palms off on his jeans, he reached into the pile of glass to remove the gun. His jerked his hand back suddenly, watching the blood pool around the piece of glass that had gotten stuck in his finger. Pulling it out, a small rivulet of blood ran down his finger and onto the floor. A few drops landed on the gun, and swiftly the temperature in the room began to dip.

Sam was suddenly filled with an overwhelming compulsion to pick up the gun. When his bloody hand took hold of the gun, a shock went through his body. Hearing Dean come back into the room, he tried to turn towards him, but his body rejected all attempts to move. Terrified, he heard Dean speak.

"Ok, you made the mess, you clean the mess." Dean frowned as he took in the sight before him. Sam was crouched in front of the fireplace with an odd expression on his pale face. In his right hand was the gun that had been inside the glass case. Wait, was that blood? "Sam, what happened?"

Dean started to move over to him, but stopped short as Sam stood up, the gun pointed at him. Dean did his best to keep his voice calm. "Sam, put the gun down." Sam's eyes darted all over the room, as if trying to get his bearings. Dean took a step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening manner. "Sam, talk to me." He hoped this wasn't going to be a repeat of the events that happened at the asylum; his ribs ached at the memory.

Sam's voice took on an eerie quality. "Why?"

Dean edged closer. "'Why', what, Sam?"

"Why'd you do it?"

Dean tried to judge the distance between himself and Sam. He was just out of range to disarm him. A few more feet..."Do what? You're gonna have to give me more than that, Sam."

Sam's eyes flashed in anger as he shouted. "Stop it! It's not fair!"

Dean was taken aback. Ok, he was obviously missing something here. Sam was fine a few minutes ago, until he touched...the gun. Ah, there we go. Now, who, or what, was controlling Sam? Dean decided to deal with that later. Right now his main concern was getting that gun away from him.

He pointed down at Sam's feet. "Dude, be careful! Don't step on the glass."

The moment Sam's head went down Dean launched himself the last few feet and tackled Sam. He heard the breath leave Sam's lungs in a loud whoosh as Dean strained his hand towards the gun. He had just managed to get his fingers on Sam's wrist when the younger boy recovered enough to push Dean off. Haltingly he made his way towards the front door.

Dean growled. "Oh no you don't!" He struggled to his knees and hurled himself at Sam. Crashing to the floor, the struggle for the gun ensued. Dean felt the blood soak his bandage as he balled his right hand into a fist.

"Sorry...Sammy" he grunted as he hit him square on the jaw. Sam fell backwards, stunned. The gun still held loosely in Sam's grasp, Dean finally got his hand on it. A jolt went through him as he grabbed the gun. Unable to move, he watched as Sam stood up, massaging his jaw. Dean watched in horror as his own hand pointed the gun at Sam, following his movements as he lurched to his feet.

Though Dean felt his lips move, the words he heard uttered were not his own. "What were you doing with my gun, Jack?"

"I was just cleaning it, that's all. Let me come with you! I can watch your back, Dylan, keep you safe." Sam felt like a spectator as he watched the events before him unfold. His struggles to regain control doubled when he realized what was happening. The Hopkins brothers were reliving the moment when Jack accidentally killed himself. If Sam didn't do something, he feared he would meet the same fate.

Dean's hands moved deftly as he examined the gun. "Dammit, Jack! You jammed it! This is exactly why you don't belong in battle."

Sam watched helplessly as Dean, or rather Dylan, fiddled with the gun. He tried once again to speak, but was pushed aside. "Don't say that! I cleaned it just the way you showed me."

"Yeah, well…" a deafening bang echoed in the small cabin. Sam felt a sharp pain in his chest. Gasping, he fell heavily to the ground.

"SAM!" Dean screamed silently, still trapped within his own mind. His eyes followed the wisp of smoke that drifted from the barrel of the gun.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean's eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the wisp of smoke that drifted up to the ceiling. "No. Oh no, please, no." he murmured as he dropped down next to his brother. His left hand settled on Sam's clammy forehead, his right still held the weapon. Sam's right hand reached out and came to rest on Dean's. One last drop of blood trickled onto the gun. The gun glowed with an unnatural heat, searing the flesh on their hands. As the gun dropped to the floor Dean yelled in pain.

Swallowing the nausea that came upon him, Dean tried again to speak, and was rewarded with a hoarse, "Sammy." The relief he felt at regaining control of his body was fleeting as he saw his little brother lay still as death. Unsteady fingers found a strong pulse, and Dean closed his eyes against the tears of relief that threatened. His own heart skipped a few beats as Sam's hand shot out and gripped Dean's wrist like a vice.

Sam's eyes flew open as he gasped. "Dean?"

Dean nodded. "It's me, Sam. It's over." He looked around the room. "At least, I think it is." The temperature in the room had begun to rise, and the lamp shone brightly.

Dean found the bullet hole in Sam's shirt, but no blood. He reached inside Sam's shirt pocket and removed the shattered cell phone. Holding it up for Sam to see, he wracked his brain for a clever comment to break the tension, but all he could concentrate on was how close he had come to becoming an only child. "You were lucky, kid."

"Yeah." He shut his eyes as a wave of pain rolled through his chest. When it receded he continued. "Where's the bullet?"

"Never mind that, where's the gun?" A black scorch mark discolored the hardwood floor where the gun had landed, but like the bullet, it was nowhere to be found.

Once again Dean found himself at a loss for words. Instead he worked on getting Sam to his feet, then guided him over to the couch. His big brother mode took over as he examined Sam. "Can you breathe ok? Seeing double or anything?"

Sam wearily shook his head. "I couldn't move. I knew what was going on, I just couldn't stop it."

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He kept wavering between anger, guilt and sadness. "I know how you feel." he said. "I think it was the blood. The Hopkins' blood got on the gun back then, and I guess our own blood must have brought about our little Civil War reenactment."

"It was just an accident. Why did he blame Jack?" Sam thought out loud.

Dean spoke softly. "Fear. Guilt. It pushed him over the edge. He was supposed to look out for his little brother. He couldn't bring himself to face what he'd done." Dean's voice cracked on the last word, and he quickly got up from the couch.

Sam started to follow, but the sharp pain in his chest forced him back. Absently rubbing where he'd been shot, Sam watched as Dean began to sweep up the broken glass. "We should probably burn Jack's bones. Just in case."

Dean turned. "You don't think it's over?"

"I just want to be sure. He was so tortured. He'd spent his whole life looking up to Dylan, trying to please him. I mean, the gun went off on accident, but he was still killed by his brother. And then Dylan couldn't even do right by him in death."

Dean stared at the floor, breathing heavily. Sam clapped a hand to his forehead. Stupid! Dean was feeling guilty enough as it was. Ok, time to steal a page from Dean's Book ofReverse Psychology. Sam narrowed his eyes, a devilish smile traced on his lips. "So, we're even?"

Dean kept his back to Sam. "Even?"

"Dude, you shot me. So we're even."

Dean finally turned, his mouth agape. "Are you freakin' serious?"

"Hey, I shot you back at the asylum, and you shot me here. We're even." Sam repeated.

Dean understood what Sam was doing, and a feeling of gratitude came over him. Working to keep his face angry, he continued sweeping. "Ok, you were pissed at me when you shot me. I was possessed by some nutbag from a hundred years ago. Big difference."

"Actually, it was one hundred forty-three years ago, and I had Ellicott in my brain."

Dean walked over to Sam, the two of them refusing to break the stare. Finally the side of Dean's mouth twitched, and he chuckled. "Come on, Geek Boy," he grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him to his feet. "It won't be dark for a few more hours. Let's head into town for some food. Sharing my body with a ghost really works up an appetite."

"So does shooting your brother."

"You should know."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."


	9. Chapter 9

The moon hid behind the clouds, offering no light for the young men in the back of the cemetery. Dean stood on the ground above Sam, who was halfway through digging their third hole in less than twenty-four hours.

"You ok?" Dean called down. Sam was hunched over, his hands on his knees. At the sound of Dean's voice, he looked up wearily and gave a thumbs up.

"Just catching my breath."

Dean dropped down next to him and picked up the shovel. "It's my turn. Let me take over."

Sam straightened up and wiped the sweat from his face. "No, man, I'm good. It can't be too much further."

"Sam, you're hurt. You shouldn't be doing this at all. Now, get up here and give me some light."

Sam took the proffered flashlight and pulled himself out of the grave. He was a little frustrated that Dean had to take over for him, but his side was in much more pain than his pride. "So, how are you going to explain the gun to Emma?"

"I'll just tell her the truth." Dean said.

Sam raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Really. When's the last time you were honest with a woman?"

Dean decided to ignore the snide remark for the moment. He put on his best innocent expression. "I'll just tell her my dumbass brother decided to play cowboys and indians, and lost it in the woods."

Dean laughed to himself. He felt something brush onto his shoulder. He ducked as Sam kicked more dirt at him. "Dammit, Sam, cut it out!"

For a few minutes the only sound was the shovel smacking into the ground. Sam watched Dean dig while he got up the courage to voice the thought he'd been wrestling with.

"So, do you think it was me?" Sam asked in a small voice.

"Oh geez, what was you?"

"You know, that made the gun fall."

Dean chewed his bottom lip as he struggled to find the right answer. He finally decided on the truth. "I don't know, Sam. I just don't know."

A little while later the brothers stood side by side watching the fire slowly ebb away. "Well, I guess all that's left is to fill the hole." Sam handed the shovel to Dean.

Dean shook his head. "Nope. I dug most of that hole, now you can fill it."

"Hey, I'm injured. You shot me, remember?"

"Yeah, and I've got a gash about a mile long on my hand. And don't forget, you shot me first!"

"What are you, ten?"

"Fine, give me the damn shovel." Dean grabbed it and began filling in the hole.

Sam took on a somber tone. "So, do you think it's really over?

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I think so."

Neither of them spoke as they took turns filling in the hole. The next time the moon broke through the clouds, it shone upon the two Winchesters leaning against the back of the Impala.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam looked straight ahead.

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean answered.

"This was a lousy vacation."

Dean nodded his head. "Yeah, it was."

"So, we drop the keys off while the diner's closed?"

"Yup"

Dean pulled his own keys out of his pocket. "Let's hit it."

The quiet of the night was broken as the engine of the black Chevy Impala roared through the Pennsylvania streets. As they passed the cabin's turnoff, Dean rolled down the window to give a final one-finger salute, while up the dirt road all was still, except for the tire swing, which began to swing back and forth, back and forth.

**The End **

Author's Note: Well, there it is. Thanks for reading, and an especially warm "Thank you" to all those who reviewed….it means so much. Until next time, take care!

-Susan


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